In questo terzo romanzo viene presentato il vasto mondo del mercato coperto di Parigi, Les Halles, le liste infinite dei generi alimentari e le descrizioni minuziose (attenzione ai vegani sensibili), portano ad una similitudine con la città sotto il Secondo Impero. La trama semplice rivela le passioni e le meschinerie della Parigi proletaria, vibrante nelle sue descrizioni minuziose, direi "l'impressionismo" della letteratura.

La novela se desarrolla en el París de mediados del siglo XIX, específicamente en el nuevo mercado o central de abastos que formó parte de la renovación urbana impulsada por Napoleón III.

El texto es muy propenso a hacer una descripción sumamente minuciosa y exhaustiva de todo lo habido y por haber en ese inmenso mercado: mercancías, instalaciones y personas que pululan por ahí; tal nivel de descripción y lo dilatada de la misma hacen que su lectura se haga cansina.

Sin duda Emile Zola (1840-1902) demuestra su gran capacidad para describir con gran apego y muy detalladamente cada circunstancia, cada persona y cada objeto. Para mi gusto se excedió en lo descriptivo dejando un poco de lado la acción, la trama y los diálogos a los que también les da cabida, aunque de manera insuficiente a mi modo de ver.

A pesar de todo el autor se da tiempo para crear una gran cantidad de personajes, donde el protagonista es Florent, ex presidiario de Cayena por asuntos políticos quien llega a París para rehacer su vida, su hermano Quenu, la esposa de éste, la honesta y valerosa Lisa; la bella Normanda dueña de un puesto de pescado, el pintor Claude y la señorita Saget, intrigante y oportunista dama del mercado.

Florent queda atrapado entre las intrigas de las mujeres del mercado, así como entre los actos de un pequeño grupo de subversivos descontentos con el régimen de Napoleón III. En ese gran mercado de Les Halles, Zola hace bullir la vida como en un pequeño mundo. Ahora ese histórico mercado ha sido convertido en un elegante centro comercial.

The cover of this novel should come with a warning. Well, may be not even just a warning, for it should be sold with a calorie counter. I am afraid I may have put on several kilos while reading this. Perhaps it would be advisable to read it while running on the treadmill. The lush descriptions of succulent food could well activate and stimulate the production of a peculiar kind of literary enzymes which multiply by ten the energy provided by ingested food if it has been deliciously described.

Warnings should go also for the vegetarians. Or the sections dealing with raw meat on display, black pudding, lard and all kinds of sausages, could make them feel disgusted with Zola. These ought to be marked and those who want their cholesterol (the LDL kind) somewhat high would be interested in giving it a pass. The pescetarian types could instead go direct to the Fish pavilion and read and smell the bounty piscary. Zola’s account of the fish counter has the variety and range of an oceanic aquarium. In all shapes and tints.

Flesh and Fish then. If these victuals are often presented in opposition Zola exploits this by making it drive some aspects of the novel. For the plot moves along the rivalry between the Butcher and Fishmonger ladies.

Other people may prefer to move ahead and read the counter on cheeses and butters over and over again. Never would I have thought that anyone would ever write such an Ode to the Cantals, Gruyères, Bries, Port-Saluts, Roqueforts, Monts-d’Or, Neufchâtels, of this world. Sumptuous and delectable. I certainly belong to that group, and if I could only put one update for this book, it would be this glorious passage. But then, I am a lacto-addict.

And even if the book first pays attention to the vegetables, it may be of interest to leave that section to read at the end. I always liked the French custom of eating salad at the end of meals. I don’t know why Zola did not follow this commendable habit here. No matter, his vegetables sparkle like colourful jewels.

But not everything is the food. There is history too. Although I have read a fair amount of Zola in the past, for its literary appeal, I was now drawn for its documentary value. And I have not been disappointed. This novel can be read as an intense social, economic and political document.

Although published in 1873, when France had installed the Third Republic, the novel is set in the early years of the Second Empire when the population of Paris had doubled in just a few decades. This was the time of the Haussmannization of the city, and amongst other projects, the Central Market of Paris was rebuilt in a structure of glass and steel pavilions to accommodate the provisioning of the city. Balzac had already been fascinated by the logistics required for the supply of food for the daily consumption of Parisians. And Zola followed Balzac’s steps in this too. Reading his Ventre de Paris one feels the compulsion to google all kinds of data relating to Les Halles of Victor Baltard (1805-1974).





But what fascinated me the most during this read was Zola’s exploration of the nature of substantiality and his blurring of the borderline separating the human from the material. In some of his descriptions there is a symbiosis between the individual and the corporeality of her/his world that goes beyond anthropomorphism.

Inevitably, I had to think of Arcimboldo’s fantasies..




For there is something Surreal in Zola’s Naturalism.

like les mis, but not a musical, so worse

3.5 stars. This was one of Anthony Bourdain’s favorite novels, and I can see why. Gorgeous, poetic descriptions of the foods and the markets, and a protagonist who was very much like him: tall, lanky, angsty, idealistic, and able to see rotten corruption hidden behind supposedly beautiful, respectable facades (of both people and institutions.)

I didn’t rate this higher, because there is an excessive number of pages spent describing foods and smells. These descriptions could have been cut in half without losing any effect. Much of the book is descriptions, descriptions and no plot. For example, at one point, Zola spends pages describing the odors of different cheeses, as though they are different instruments playing in an orchestra. Interesting idea, yes, but he drones on and on with it. Eventually, I started skimming over the food descriptions.

Where there is a plot, it was very interesting.
The seemingly least powerful characters are actually the ones who, through malicious gossip, are able to destroy a person at their whim, and without regret.

It’s a Paris full of contradictions, where everything that seems healthy, wholesome and beautiful is rancid beneath, and everything that is raggedy and suffering is pure at heart.

3.5/5

"ΤΟ ΣΤΟΜΑΧΙ ΤΟΥ ΠΑΡΙΣΙΟΥ"

ΣΕ ΑΥΤΟ ΤΟ ΑΝΑΓΝΩΣΜΑ ΜΕΤΑΦΕΡΟΜΑΣΤΕ
ΣΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΧΗ ΤΩΝ ΑΛ, ΤΗΝ ΚΕΝΤΡΙΚΗ
ΑΓΟΡΑ ΤΟΥ ΠΑΡΙΣΙΟΥ.

ΜΙΑ ΓΕΙΤΟΝΙΑ ΕΜΠΟΡΩΝ, ΑΛΛΑΝΤΟΠΩΛΕΙΩΝ, ΜΑΝΑΒΙΚΩΝ, ΚΡΕΟΠΩΛΕΙΩΝ, ΙΧΘΥΟΠΩΛΕΙΩΝ.
ΟΙ ΜΥΡΩΔΙΕΣ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΑΙΣΘΗΤΕΣ ΣΕ ΚΑΘΕ ΒΗΜΑ ΣΕ ΚΑΘΕ ΜΟΝΟΠΑΤΙ.

ΜΥΡΩΔΙΕΣ ΠΟΥ ΣΕ ΜΑΓΕΥΟΥΝ. ΑΠΟ ΤΗΝ ΑΛΛΗ
Η ΑΠΟΦΟΡΑ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΕΝΤΟΝΗ.

ΣΤΗ ΓΕΙΤΟΝΙΑ ΤΩΝ ΑΛ, ΜΙΑ ΚΛΕΙΣΤΗ
ΚΟΙΝΩΝΙΑ ΕΠΙΚΡΑΤΕΙ ΤΟ ΚΟΥΤΣΟΜΠΟΛΙΟ, Η ΕΜΠΑΘΕΙΑ, ΟΙ ΠΡΟΚΑΤΑΛΗΨΕΙΣ.

ΚΑΘΗΜΕΡΙΝΗ ΔΡΑΣΤΗΡΙΟΤΗΤΑ
ΤΩΝ ΚΑΤΟΙΚΩΝ ΠΕΡΑ ΑΠΟ ΤΗΝ ΠΩΛΗΣΗ, Η
ΚΑΚΕΝΤΡΕΧΕΙΑ. Ο ΣΚΟΤΑΔΙΣΜΟΣ ΠΛΗΤΤΕΙ
ΤΙΣ ΒΟΥΛΕΒΑΡΤΕΣ ΤΟΥ ΠΑΡΙΣΙΟΥ.

ΕΝΑ ΣΤΟΜΑΧΙ ΠΟΥ ΟΡΕΓΕΤΑΙ, ΠΟΥ ΖΗΤΑ ΝΑ
"ΦΑΕΙ" ΤΟΥΣ ΙΔΙΟΥΣ ΤΟΥ ΤΟΥΣ ΠΟΛΙΤΕΣ.
ΚΑΛΟΘΡΕΜΜΕΝΟ ΠΑΡΙΣΙ!
ΜΙΑ ΔΙΑΜΑΧΗ ΜΕΤΑΞΥ ΤΟΥ ΠΛΗΘΩΡΙΚΟΥ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΛΙΤΟΔΙΑΙΤΟ, ΤΗΣ ΑΡΙΣΤΟΚΡΑΤΙΑΣ ΜΕ ΤΟΥΣ
ΕΠΑΝΑΣΤΑΤΕΣ.
ΜΙΑ ΚΟΝΤΡΑ ΠΟΥ ΦΥΣΙΚΑ ΔΙΝΕΙ ΕΛΠΙΔΑ ΜΟΝΟ
ΣΤΟΥΣ ΧΟΝΤΡΟΥΣ.

ΤΗΝ ΕΞΟΥΣΙΑ ΤΗΝ ΚΑΤΕΧΟΥΝ ΟΙ ΓΥΝΑΙΚΕΣ.
ΟΙ ΑΝΤΡΕΣ ΔΕΝ ΑΝΤΙΔΡΟΥΝ,
ΔΕΝ ΕΚΦΡΑΖΟΝΤΑΙ, ΔΕΝ ΕΠΑΝΑΣΤΑΤΟΥΝ
ΕΙΝΑΙ ΕΞΑΡΤΩΜΕΝΟΙ ΑΠΟ ΤΙΣ ΓΥΝΑΙΚΕΣ
ΤΟΥΣ Κ ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΙΚΑ
Κ ΗΘΙΚΑ. Η ΕΠΑΝΑΣΤΑΣΗ ΔΕΝ ΥΠΑΡΧΕΙ ΣΕ
ΑΥΤΗ ΤΗΝ ΠΕΡΙΟΧΗ.

ΜΟΝΟ Ο ΦΛΟΡΑΝ, ΔΡΑΠΕΤΗΣ ΤΩΝ ΦΥΛΑΚΩΝ
ΚΑΓΙΕΝ, ΕΠΙΣΤΡΕΦΕΙ ΣΤΙΣ ΑΛ,
ΕΚΦΡΑΖΕΙ ΤΙΣ ΠΟΛΙΤΙΚΕΣ
ΤΟΥ ΙΔΕΕΣ ΓΙΑ ΤΙΣ ΟΠΟΙΕΣ ΘΑ ΚΑΤΑΔΙΚΑΣΤΕΙ
ΓΙΑ ΑΚΟΜΑ ΜΙΑ ΦΟΡΑ ΑΓΝΟΩΝΤΑΣ ΤΗΝ ΕΧΘΡΟΤΗΤΑ
ΤΟΥ ΤΟΠΟΥ ΤΟΥ.

ΕΝΑ ΗΘΟΓΡΑΦΙΚΟ ΚΑΙ ΓΑΣΤΡΟΝΟΜΙΚΟ
ΤΑΞΙΔΙ ΜΕ ΑΝΕΠΑΝΑΛΗΠΤΕΣ ΠΕΡΙΓΡΑΦΕΣ Κ ΕΙΚΟΝΕΣ!

My first Zola novel was Germinal. That set a high bar, probably unattainable as far as the impression it left on my young mind.
This was another great novel with the plight of the working class in the forefront, the political climate omnipresent in the background.
I've been going back and forth between Balzac and Zola's cycles. It amazes me how well they both portrayed so many facets of society. You'd think it could be pulled off one or two times, writing credibly about what you haven't lived. But these guys did it twenty times or more, a panorama of society.
I'm not sure who I love more, maybe I'll decide when i am finished reading them all if I live long enough. But Zola has been top shelf every time.

The strong argument of Zola's entire narrative is the place. It is said that the man sanctifies the place, but here, I'd say that the place sanctifies the man. I pass almost weekly through Les Halles - the place where the action of the story unfolds, if we can talk about action, within this story, but Zola's work falls outside the action, more precisely it uses an ingredient that is related more to the idea of belonging, of roots, of merging man with place.
Throughout the entire reading, I felt I experience the sensation of a double entity in myself, one marked by a strong character of déjà -vu , and another at the opposite pole, of ignorance and thirst for knowledge.

The streets of Paris themselves become characters, as Zola describes with a detailed eye the sights, sounds, and smells that permeate the very air. Through his prose, I can almost taste the freshly baked bread, hear the clatter of carts, and feel the surge of excitement that electrifies the air as the market comes alive each day. The knowledge that Les Halles underwent significant changes in the years following the book's publication fills me with a sense of bittersweet melancholy, the loss of the bustling marketplace and the transformation of the neighborhood into something new and modern is a sad reminder, for me - of the transient nature of urban landscapes.

In this journey of breathtaking cruelty and heart-stopping richness, one cannot help but draw parallels to the works of Balzac. Just as Balzac meticulously peered into the lives of his characters to reveal the complexities of society, Zola too unravels the layers beneath the veneer of Les Halles. Much like the interconectedness of Balzac's " La Comédie Humaine" , Zola's " Le ventre de Paris " presents a microcosm of society, a kaléidoscope of human desires and ambitions. Through his characters, Zola gives a voice to those often overlooked or marginalized, exposing the harsh realities of life in Les Halles, and sparking empathy within the readers. Furthermore, Le ventre de Paris exemplifies some of the concepts discussed in his " Roman Expérimental " - such as heredity and environments, where he examines the role of scientific principles in literature, being actually a theoretical exploration which showcase once more Zola's commitment to realism.

In conclusion, my review of " Le ventre de Paris " as a reader deeply connected to the place is one filled with both personal considerations and profound admiration. This book serves as both a tribute to the past and a reminder of the ever-changing nature of our urban environments, and
through its exploration of themes such as capitalism, social inequality, and the human condition, " Le ventre de Paris " is also a scathing critique of the societal structures of its time. Zola skillfully exposes the underbelly of Les Halles, the hidden tensions beneath its seemingly vibrant surface, offering a critique of both the heart and the belly of Paris. I don't know how the book is perceived for others, but for me it was like a teleportation in a time in which, paradoxically, I lived once. Maybe, indeed, the place sanctifies the man...

The Zola that abuses our senses the most! Taste, sight, smell, touch, hardly anything but hearing that spared, and more.
One of the masters of the description uses his talent to immerse us in the overcrowded, overheated, and overabundant world of the new Halles de Paris, the cathedral of glass and steel. The temple of the consumption of perishable foodstuffs beats in the heart of the capital, day and night, like a heart in a man's chest. This powerful machine, both the source of wealth and the haven of misery, harbors a people with disparate aspirations.
Emile Zola often cloisters his reader from the novel's beginning in a restricted space; he wraps up the neighborhood. His characters become familiar to us; we become their intimate. At this price, we can see, stripped bare, the beauty or the ugliness of their souls, spy on their gestures, analyze their thoughts, and anticipate their destiny.
"The belly of Paris" is not my favorite Zola, but it is so consistent with the Rougon-Macquart saga that it is a stunning building block nonetheless. Once again, Emile Zola understands there is a need to reserve literature for everyone.

A gastronomic extravaganza for all carnivorous turophiles, the third novel in the Rougon-Macquart series is an impeccably translated parleyvous into the prickly purlieus of mid-1800s Paree, starring more big-bosomed bitchy fishwives than a Shetlandic wharf. The naive Florent is our luckless hero, plopped into the capital post-wrongful imprisonment, a thin man caught up in a bustling bourgeois world of respectable market traders—a coterie of carping chaffers keen to slap down the prosperous meat-slinger Louise, who offers our hero shelter, lardons, and bouillies. Plump in Zola’s nutritive descriptions, from the fruit and veg stalls, the preparation of meat, the pungent whiffs of blood and rotten produce, the novel evokes the period with the same exquisite vividness as the superstores in The Ladies’ Paradise, or the backstage scents in Nana, and shows a world where the strong-willed women wangle themselves a living as the men sit around and plot futile political revolutions. One of Zola’s finest.

I’m not going to lie: I was on the verge of giving up when I reached Chapter Three. The revolting description of the putrid smells of the Central Markets (present-day Les Halles), while evincing Zola’s extraordinary keen observation of details and his skills with words, was a major turn-off. I think I will avoid eating cheese for a long time to come.

Notwithstanding, I did slog along to reach Chapter Five, whence the action started to pick up steam, and by the time I finished the novel, tears filled my eyes. In the final analysis, I have to admit that I still liked Zola’s use of symbolism that is heavily laced with satire, especially in his tongue-in-cheek depiction of the hypocrisy of the haves (“the fat”) towards the have-nots (“the thin”) (like Beautiful Lisa’s initial superficial warmth towards Scraggy Florent, which then turns to bitter alienation when her self interest is threatened), of the envious tendencies of the wannabe haves (like the jealous malice of the gossipy and greedy Mademoiselle Saget, Madame Lecoeur, La Sarriet and Madame Mehudin), and of the invincible driving force of materialism in a bourgeois society in general (like the markets being symbolized as the “glutted, digesting beast of Paris, wallowing in its fat and silently upholding the Empire”).

It seems to me that somewhere beneath all the stomach-turning descriptive lexicon, Zola wants to express just one thought in this novel, which is what the painter Claude says in exclamation at the very end: “What blackguards respectable people are!”

In a less serious note, the novel does offer some interesting tidbits about Paris in the early days of the Second Empire. One of these was a practice where bijoutiers peddled leftover food scraps from the large restaurants, the royal households and state ministries to the underprivileged class for a few sous per portion. Another was that the fattening of pigeons was done by specially trained laborers called gaveurs, whose job was to force-feed the pigeons.

Emile Zola’s The Belly of Paris is the third novel of his epic Les Rougon-Macquart cycle. I thought long about how best to sum up the novel, but concluded Brian Nelson’s excellent introduction could not be surpassed. He wrote:

"…The Belly of Paris (has) a high degree of ideological ambiguity. There is no equivocation, however, in Zola’s satirical critique of the bourgeoisie and the ‘high’ capitalism of the Second Empire. The last words of the novel – Claude’s exclamation ‘Respectable people…What bastards!’ – deplore the triumph of the ‘Fat’. Beneath the outward ‘respectability’ of the bourgeoisie there is a venality and brutality that Zola portrays as monstrous. Marjolin, the young woman in the pink bonnet, and above all,tFlorent are sacrificed on the altar of bourgeois greed.”

The Belly of Paris holds many lessons applicable to our times. Read it and you may see the same story transferred to New York or Houston in 2013 – as Professor Nelson noted “the bourgeois triumph repeatedly over the workers; political idealism goes nowhere.” Just replace “bourgeois” with “job creators” and “workers” with “takers” and the statement is relevant today.